


light as a feather [circling all round the sun remix]

by Diaphenia



Category: New Girl
Genre: Crack, F/M, Gen, Growing Up, Magical Realism, Wingfic, mild Nick/Schmidt, remix 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4065259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/pseuds/Diaphenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My roommates have a Douchebag Jar, and I’m the sole contributor, and I contributed $300 last summer alone.”</p><p>“I hope that money’s going to charity.”</p><p>“I think it goes for beer.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	light as a feather [circling all round the sun remix]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra/gifts).
  * Inspired by [circling all round the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/877887) by [Kyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra/pseuds/Kyra). 



> Kyra, I thought your wingfic really resonated with me when I first read it, and it's something I've come back to a few times over the years. I really loved the emotional journey Schmidt went on, and whenever I've reread it, I've found different parts have stood out to me. When I got the chance to remix a fic of yours, I knew what I had to pick!
> 
> With love to the A team.

Schmidt thinks he’s getting his wings the day he becomes a man in the eyes of G-d and the temple and most importantly, his mother. 

“I’m a man now,” he says after becoming a Bar Mitzvah. “I should have them.” Tommy Kushner’s wings had sprouted mid-aliyah. And yeah, Tommy had spent the rest of the ceremony in blinding pain, but at the end of the party, he was going to hop in the shower, wash the blood right off, and have his wings. 

“Your voice barely started cracking,” his mother says, holding him a little too tight, her own wings fluttering over his shoulders. “Schmifty. I’m so proud of you. Now, I just need you to write your thank you letters.”

“Tomorrow, Ma.”

***

High school graduation is a bust. By the time he waddles across the stage at Thomas Jefferson High, clad in a disgusting shade of pea green that reminds him only of the post- _Poltergeist_ nightmares he had for weeks after seeing that movie (against his mother’s express wishes, of course she’d been right about that), he’s one of only seventy-two wingless schmucks in his graduating class. Which might sound good, but that puts him in the company of only nineteen percent of his classmates. Schmidt’s good at school, in the top five percentile grade-wise, which surely has to count for something, wing-wise. It seemed like a fair trade-off— work hard, be seen as mature enough to get wings. 

It’s not the first time he decides life isn’t fair. 

***

His roommate takes one look at Schmidt and packs a duffel, muttering something about crashing with his bro. Which is all the better for Schmidt—college is looking to be the best years of his life, based on both the fine ladies and the four campus buffets. 

But he’s going to need a best friend, and it’s not going to be the muscle-bound idiot who already took off, that much is clear. 

“Dude, you don’t have wings yet?” asks the guy down the hall, a Chicagoan with a delightful mustache. He smells like patchouli oil and regret, but he sticks his hand out. “I mean, that’s gotta be good for getting with ladies, if you know what I’m saying. I can’t count the number of times my wings have prevented me from getting laid.”

Nick Miller’s wings are a beautiful shade of silvery-gray, and they remain still at his sides. Schmidt has a sudden urge to see them spread out, because his new friend has the type of wings that would reach long past his own fingertips, majestic in the sun. 

Schmidt put down the ramen he was eating, and stretched out his hands.

“Whoa, dude. You don’t touch another guy’s wings,” Nick says batting Schmidt away. “Not without even asking first.”

“Can I touch one?” Schmidt asks.

“Sure.” Nick leans forward, his wing still utterly still. Schmidt flutters his fingers over the edge of the right wing, feeling the feathers slip through like water. 

“That almost tickles,” Schmidt says, fascinated.

Nick pulls his wings closer to his body, looking suddenly pale. 

“That was—wow. But we’re going to shake that off.” Nick looks resolute. “Do you want to go to a party tonight?”

“My first college party,” Schmidt says. Clearly, this going to be the best freshman year ever.

***

Elizabeth is beautiful and funny, and wingless too. 

“I don’t care,” she says on the topic of wings, which Schmidt broaches casually after their dance party. “Some people just don’t even get them.”

Schmidt wonders if he should put his hand on her knee. 

***

“You’re just mad because I lost the weight so easily,” he says.

Elizabeth looks like she might slap him. “Easily? You think that was easy? You haven’t eaten bread in six months!”

“Flour is bad for you.”

“Flour and bacon and avocados—avocados _are_ good for you, that’s why they’re a fruit—and fucking yogurt! _Yogurt_ , Schmidt.” 

“Too much refined sugar.”

“And you email me your workout schedule every day.”

He’s quiet. “I just thought—you might want to come with me, to the gym.”

She crosses her arms. 

“The guys there are just swell, very kind, always willing to scream at you if you need.”

“Like I have two hours a day to devote to ab crunches!” She balls her hands into fists reflexively. “Do you think you’re _better_ than me, just because you exercise?”

He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, because he knows how that will end. He’s danced delicately around the topic enough; surely she’s gotten the hint. 

“I have the highest GPA out of all the compsci people. It’s a _different priority._ I’m trying to get a good job after graduation, for you and me, Big Guy.”

He covers his hands over his face. “I’m not—I’m not that guy. Big Guy. I’m Regular Guy, on my way to Sculpted Guy. Maybe on my way to Super Hot Guy.”

“No,” she says, coldly. “You certainly aren’t Big Guy anymore.”

***

Neither the break up with Elizabeth, the move to L.A., nor the putting final finishing touches on his new hot body makes him sprout the wings he’s been waiting for, but he settles into a nice groove. Works his cool job in his hot suits, even if he has to pay extra to get them tailored without wings, spends his nights hitting on L.A. ladies with their fancy, tiny dresses and fancy, tiny wings and the weekends with his roommates Nick and Coach (sleek gray feathers, very cool) and sometimes Winston (fuzzy black feathers, impressive wingspan) when he comes back to town. It’s a hard life but someone has to do it. 

***

The next time he sees Elizabeth, at a club he would’ve thought was too exclusive to be her scene, she’s got beautiful multi-colored wings, arched out on an angle, demanding space on the dance floor and attention from her handsome partner. 

That night, despite using the tingly lube and a firm hand, he cannot orgasm.

***  
He crawls before her, metaphorically of course, and eats three quarters of a pizza in penance for the terrible things he said to her back in the day. 

“I’m not going to lie, watching you eat that was weirdly erotic,” she says, eyes glued to a grease stain on his shirt. “I could get used to you apologizing.”

“It really was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he says. “The way we broke up.”

She laughs. “That seems so unlikely. I’m sure you’ve done some really shitty things over the years.”

“A few,” he says. “My roommates have a Douchebag Jar, and I’m the sole contributor, and I contributed $300 last summer alone.”

“I hope that money’s going to charity.”

“I think it goes for beer.” He ticks off his fingers. “I got a team lead at work fired because she was always stealing my concealer. I don’t tip valets. I use aerosol hair spray even though I know it’s eating the atmosphere.”

“This is getting good.”

“I haven’t ever written a thank you note, and this despite the lovely embossed stationery my mother bought me.” 

She towards him on her loveseat, her wings framing her face in the lamplight. “Disgusting. Tell me more.”

“And once I saw you at Club Reno, a few years ago, and you were dancing with some jagoff in a cheap suit—”

“Club Reno? I used to go there all the time.”

“Just like this totally stupid-looking man with perfect teeth, and you were wearing this blue dress that left very little to the imagination, and you’d gotten your wings in, and I wanted more than anything to touch them. Because I’d touched every inch of you but I’d never get to touch those beautiful wings.”

She looks a little dazed. 

“Can I—”

“One step at a time,” she says.

He wants to put his hand on her knee again. _Fortune favors the brave_ , he thinks, and leans forward.

Almost immediately, he’s crippled with a searing pain. Elizabeth is at his side, running her hands up and down his spine, telling him to hold tight. _It’ll be over soon_ , she whispers again and again. _This is just part of growing up_. 

***

When Schmidt touches his wings against Elizabeth’s, he feels like he could fly.


End file.
